


the guy that you deserve

by LadyMerlin



Series: I’m not an idiot (speak for yourself) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Companionable Snark, Confessions, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gratuitous Smut, Happy Sex, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: He’s been kissed before, of course, and he’s kissed people too, but Oikawa isn’tpeople.Oikawa is barely a human being, probably an alien from outer space, definitely the most important person in his entire world, and Iwaizumi iskissinghim.





	the guy that you deserve

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Eden by Chef'Special. When I heard this song I knew it was going straight into my IwaOi playlist, but that's mostly because I heard the chorus as: 
> 
> "Be the guy that you can lean on,  
> Yeah, the **_garbage_** you deserve"
> 
> and I thought, yeah, that's Oikawa Tooru alright.

Oikawa isn’t a quiet person. 

In fact, he’s the noisiest, most obnoxious person Iwaizumi has ever had the misfortune (fortune?) of meeting in his entire _life_.

That’s why it’s really surprising how quiet Oikawa gets when they finally get together.

Iwaizumi had had no doubts that it would happen, eventually. He’s been in love with Oikawa since they were both sixteen, and he knows Oikawa loves him too, even though Oikawa himself might have been oblivious to it. He says _might_ , because even though he’s known his best friend for so many years, there’s still a small part of Oikawa that’s unreadable, even to Iwaizumi. That’s the only thing that kept him from confessing to Oikawa years and years ago; he’s only human. The threat of losing his best friend, and one of the most important people in his life was too much to bear.

When Oikawa finally gets his act together and confesses, because Iwaizumi has never been anything less than a sure thing, he doesn’t let the idiot babble himself into confusion. He just pulls him into a kiss and refuses to let go of him until he can feel the tension slipping away from Oikawa’s shoulders.

“Do you know why I started calling you shittykawa?” he asks instead, when Oikawa has calmed down and is curled up in his lap. It should make for a ridiculous picture, because – not that Iwaizumi would ever admit it – Oikawa is a little taller than him. He’s unfairly tall, and his legs are unfairly long, but he somehow manages to appear tiny and vulnerable in Iwaizumi’s lap, and he likes it so much it actually sticks in his throat and makes it a little hard to breathe.

Oikawa’s hair is inches from his nose. He’s smelled Oikawa’s hair before, on a dare in high school, but this is different. He wants to touch it, to make sure it still smells like grapefruit shampoo and some expensive hairspray (gel?). He wants to put his lips in it and kiss Oikawa, now that he thinks he’s actually allowed to.

In response to his question, Oikawa shakes his head but replies anyway. “Because Iwa-chan thinks I have the personality of a warm turd, which I still object to by the way, I’m a _delight_!” Oikawa only sounds indignant – he isn’t really. He knows what he is to Iwaizumi. At least, Iwaizumi hopes he does.

“No,” he replies. “I mean, you’re a little terror, but that’s not why. I called you shittykawa because I was about to call you sweetheart. The words were on my lips and there was no way to take them back. I called you trashykawa because, even though you really are trash, I was going to call you Tooru.”

Hearing Iwaizumi say his given name makes Oikawa tense up, though you wouldn’t have known looking at him. It’s only because Oikawa is in his lap that Iwaizumi can feel all his muscles locking up before he turns to look at him. The fingers of his right hand are fisted in the soft fabric of Iwaizumi’s sleeping shirt, and he doesn’t even think Oikawa has noticed. His eyes are huge and chocolatey brown as they gaze down at him – damn him for being so tall.

“Say it again, please?” Oikawa asks, and his voice is so quiet and vulnerable that Iwaizumi almost doesn’t recognize it. But this is Oikawa, underneath all the bluster and nonsense. This is the Oikawa Iwaizumi had befriended when they were both three years old, and some older kids kept putting dirt in Oikawa’s hair. This is the Oikawa who had cried at the sight of blood on Iwaizumi’s scraped knee, but who’d bravely kissed it away anyway, because that’s how his Okaa-san healed his injuries.

Iwaizumi exhales through his nose but there’s no frustration in it, only the release of a bone-deep tension built up over the years. “Tooru, you’re an idiot.”

Oikawa quivers when Iwaizumi puts a hand on his cheek and lets his thumb trace a line along his unfairly pink lips. They’re as soft as Iwaizumi had imagined, and he wonders what that says about him; that he’s been thinking about his best friend in that way for so long. Oikawa’s eyes flutter shut and his eyelashes brush against Iwaizumi’s own cheeks – they’re that close.

“Again, please, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers, and he’s inching closer now so even his lips are brushing against Iwaizumi’s face. It’s… far from objectionable.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi whispers in response, but doesn’t know what else he’s going to say. He doesn’t know what else there is to say, but he doesn’t have to continue, because Oikawa’s lips are on his, and it’s overwhelming. It takes his breath away and steals all the thoughts straight out of his head, because Oikawa is _kissing_ him – Tooru is kissing _him_.

Thankfully his body has retained at least some semblance of control, because he’s moving without having to really control his limbs. He doesn’t think he could have distinguished his fingers from his toes at this point, because he’s so distracted by the cool wetness of Oikawa’s tongue against his own sealed lips, and it’s so much that he feels panic building inside him when he doesn’t really know how to respond.

He’s been kissed before, of course, and he’s kissed people too, but Oikawa isn’t _people_. Oikawa is barely a human being, probably an alien from outer space, definitely the most important person in his entire world, and Iwaizumi is _kissing_ him. The next thing he knows, he’s picked Oikawa up and dumped him on the sofa where they’d been sitting, curled into one another.

Oikawa doesn’t tease him, doesn’t make fun of the panic in his eyes, because he can see the panic in Oikawa’s eyes too. He sits back down on the sofa, and then kind of holds himself over Oikawa’s body, so that they’re face to face and his knees are on the cushion between Oikawa’s parted thighs. It’s at once incredibly awkward and also perfectly familiar, because Iwaizumi knows this body, knows this man. He’s seen Oikawa in a state of undress a hundred times before – they’ve shared a bed and a bathroom and a shower and toothbrushes, which he understands is more than some married couples have shared. He and Oikawa have shared food and drinks and clothes and even underwear, and there isn’t a single inch of this man that is unfamiliar to him. Even the warmth radiating through his clothes is familiar, and the soft look in his eyes when he’s looking at Iwaizumi is familiar, and he really can’t help but lower his mouth to Oikawa’s for another kiss.

Oikawa opens up for him, soft and sweet, more easily than he’s ever done anything in his entire life. His mouth tastes like coffee and milk gone slightly sour. Before Iwaizumi really knows what he’s doing, he’s opening his mouth wider, as if to taste even more of Oikawa, to sink even deeper into Oikawa – or maybe have Oikawa sink into him, he doesn’t care. It’s almost instinctive, the way his head tilts so that their mouths can fit together and their tongues can intertwine. It’s not the clean kiss from moments ago – it’s dirty now, and it’s sending shivers racing up and down Iwaizumi’s spine. Oikawa is quiet except for some heavy breathing, small warm puffs of air exhaled against Iwaizumi’s upper lip.

Oikawa’s hands are on his head, his neck, his back, all over Iwaizumi, and he can’t get enough of it. Even when he pulls away, he can’t remove himself from Oikawa’s space, instead stays there, pressing their foreheads together so they can breathe into each other’s mouths. They’re both panting a little and it should be disgusting, and Iwaizumi’s entire weight is pressed against Oikawa and he’s not sure why he’s not complaining about it, but it feels _incredible_. Iwaizumi’s mind is just a blanked out hum of pleasure.

“What does that mean?” Oikawa mumbles into the space between them, eyes flickering as they study Iwaizumi’s face, flitting from his own eyes to his mouth and then back again. He can practically see steam coming out of Oikawa’s ears from how hard his brain is working, and it’s… it’s too cute to be fair.

“What do you think it means, Tooru? Do you think I go around kissing people I don’t like?”

And because Oikawa isn’t on the Deans’ List for nothing, he immediately jumps to the right conclusion. “You like me?”

Iwaizumi huffs because he’s such an _idiot_. “No, shittykawa, I don’t _like_ you,” he says, and then before Oikawa’s face can fall and he can deflate like a two-day-old balloon, “I _love_ you.” It has the exact opposite effect and he can actually _feel_ Oikawa’s ego inflating inside his chest, like he’ll open his mouth and bubbles will spill out because of how joyful he feels. Iwaizumi wants Oikawa to look like this all the time, like he’s stupidly happy with his life, like he’s a helium balloon stuck to the ceiling and nothing could ever get him down.

Oikawa opens his mouth and Iwaizumi half braces for rejection, and half for something truly imbecilic to come out, and is pleasantly surprised when he says, “I love you too, Hajime.”

It’s… it’s like a punch to the gut, like a shock of cold water over his head, but in a good way. He doesn’t want to cry, damnit, he’ll never live it down if Oikawa has anything to say about it, but he can’t help it. “I love you, Tooru,” he says stupidly, voice thick, because he can’t think of anything else to say to make Oikawa say it again.

Oikawa studies him fondly, and gives him what he wants. “I love you too, Iwa-chan,” he says again, and he thinks he’s going to tell Oikawa he loves him every single day, as many times as he possibly can, just to get Oikawa to say it back to him. It’s the headiest thing anyone has ever told him, even more life-changing than when he found out that he was getting a scholarship, or like when he found out that Oikawa was coming to college with him, and that they were going to share a room. It’s more meaningful than every confession he’s ever received put together. It’s something he wants to wear like a badge, to tell the world that Oikawa Tooru _loves_ him.

He suddenly sympathises with all the fools who post their relationship statuses on Facebook. It’s a little worrying that at this point he wouldn’t mind tattooing his name on Oikawa’s skin, somewhere. It’s more worrying that Oikawa would probably go for it, even though it’s too much, too soon.

Then again, they’ve effectively been married since they were three years old, so who could even be surprised?

“I’m not sure I like the look in your eyes, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa interrupts his bizarre chain of thought.

Iwaizumi blurts out the first thing on his mind, like he’s a complete novice at this. “I want to write my name on your body.”

Oikawa, unsurprisingly, looks utterly enchanted with the idea, like he’s about to get up and find Iwaizumi a sharpie to do it right away. “I never realised you were the possessive type,” Oikawa lies.

“You’re a liar, Tooru. You know exactly what I am,” Iwaizumi can’t help but reply. He knows it’s probably an ugly facet of his personality that he’s so jealous and possessive of the ones he loves, but he can’t help it. Oikawa is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Iwaizumi has put all his eggs into this one crazy, alien-loving, volleyball-idiot basket. This is it. There will be no one else.

“I do know, Iwa-chan. I know you, and I love you.” Somehow Oikawa knows how to say exactly what Iwaizumi needs to hear, and the years sudden stretch out in front of his eyes like a movie reel of their future, and he cannot _wait_. He can’t wait for the good times and the bad, and the arguments and the make-ups, and the late-night coffees and the endless reruns of X-files and the feeling of waking up with Oikawa’s hair in his mouth and his bare hip under Iwaizumi’s hand – it’s a glorious future he sees and he cannot _wait_.

Something in his face must catch Oikawa’s eye, because then they’re kissing again, and Iwaizumi knows without a shadow of doubt where this is going; where it has always been going. There’s something about the way Oikawa is touching him that telegraphs _intent_.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling away for a second. Oikawa’s hands casually grope his butt and he jerks in surprise, pressing into Oikawa’s own body. Oikawa huffs a laugh at the looks of mortification on Iwaizumi’s face, because he wouldn’t be the man Iwaizumi loved if he didn’t have a trash personality.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of in my life,” Oikawa says, and it’s so eloquent that it could have been stolen right out of a movie, or a poem or something, but Iwaizumi knows from the look on his face that Oikawa is perfectly serious.

“Then do you want to move to the bed?” he asks, pretends he’s not blushing like a teenage virgin.

Oikawa crows a little but blushes himself. “So forward, Iwa-chan,” he says, but doesn’t object when Iwaizumi smacks his hip. Instead he shoots him a sly little smirk, and says “I didn’t know you were into that stuff, Iwa-chan. I think I could be convinced if you wanted to smack me around in bed.”

The worst part is that he’s _dead_ serious. He’s saying it like it’s a joke, but Iwaizumi can see that he would do absolutely anything Iwaizumi asked, whether he liked it himself or not, and it’s heady and terrifying and incredibly idiotic.

“Don’t be stupider than you can help, Oikawa. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The way Oikawa relaxes tells Iwaizumi he’s said the right thing, but he doesn’t say anything except “Tooru.”

Iwaizumi’s face must show his confusion clearly, because Oikawa clarifies. “Please call me Tooru, when we’re together.”

Iwaizumi blushes even harder and pushes Oikawa into bed. He falls backwards, laughing, landing with a soft thump and bouncing on the mattress. “Then call me Hajime, please.” Oikawa goes fetchingly pink and nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi asks, crawling on top of him so they’re in the same position they were in earlier, on the couch, “can I take off your shirt?”

Oikawa covers his face as if it could possibly hide his blush and nods. Iwaizumi sets to work unbuttoning Oikawa’s crisp white shirt, bending down to press kisses against newly exposed skin. Oikawa is milk white under his clothes and his nipples are the cutest, pinkest things Iwaizumi has ever seen. He’s seen them before, of course, but he’d never really allowed himself to _look_. And now, he’s so close – he can’t help but kiss them, making Oikawa squeak.

It’s an unfairly cute sound for a grown man to make, but then again, everything about Oikawa is unfair. He’s all long limbs beneath Iwaizumi, trembling hands and sweet, desperate noises. His own shirt comes off with a lot less fanfare and is unceremoniously thrown into the corner of the room.

“Hajime,” Oikawa whispers, and god it’s so unusual for him to be so quiet that every word he says grabs his attention. “Please kiss me?” he asks, and Iwaizumi could kick himself. Of course Oikawa would be feeling insecure. He leans down and complies, kissing Oikawa so soundly that he hopes it makes all his doubts fly away. He gets a little carried away, because kissing Oikawa is a bit of a treat, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

He doesn’t even realise how long they’ve been lip-locked until Oikawa’s legs wrap around his hips, feet coming to rest against the back of his knees. It’s an incredibly suggestive position, and it makes their… situation very obvious. Iwaizumi just _knows_ he’s blushing too, because suddenly they’re both giggling into each others’ faces and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Iwaizumi to cuddle with his best friend, the way he’s been doing since they were children, to nuzzle into his cheek and kiss him chastely on his downy soft skin.

It doesn’t help with their hard-ons, of course, that would be too easy, but it breaks the tension a little. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Iwaizumi asks when they’ve calmed down a little.

“Are _you_ sure?” Oikawa fires back, “because I’ve been sure for a long time.”

“I guess that makes us a pair of perfectly suited idiots, because so have I,” is all Iwaizumi can think to say.

“I’m ready, then,” Oikawa announces, “and if you don’t fuck me this very instant, I’m going to die.”

“Then die,” Iwaizumi replies promptly, just to see the outraged look on Oikawa’s face, before he breaks character and smirks. “Because I’m going to make love to you. Fucking is for strangers and one-night stands.”

“You’re actually going to be the death of me,” Oikawa sighs, but he can’t pretend his lips aren’t twitching into a smile, and the way his hands have curled around Iwaizumi’s hips are a dead give-away.

“But what a way to go, right? If Makki and Mattsun were here, they’d probably have a pun to make about this.”

“Let’s not talk about Makki and Mattsun right now, please,” Oikawa says and wriggles beneath Iwaizumi, who reacts instinctively in defence of his dignity and plants firm hands on his hips to keep Oikawa from moving.

Oikawa’s shit-eating grin widens, and Iwaizumi realises that he was only trying to get his pants off, and that he’s just exposed himself in the most horrific way. “Is someone a little too excited?” Oikawa asks, casually condescending in that way of his, and Iwaizumi would punch him, he really would, but he’s just promised Oikawa that he wouldn’t hurt him.

So instead he gets on his knees and shoves his own pants off, kicking them all the way off so there’s no extra fabric to get tangled in. It leaves Iwaizumi sitting between Oikawa’s thighs, completely naked while Oikawa is still half-dressed. Oikawa’s mouth is open when Iwaizumi looks back up at him, and his eyes are a little glazed over.

“Like what you see?” Iwaizumi asks, equally condescending, because he’s not the slow one in this relationship, no matter what Makki says, and because he knows Oikawa’s only playing, and that he’s allowed to play too.

Oikawa nods and his mouth closes with a quiet click of teeth. From there, things move very quickly. Iwaizumi kindly helps Oikawa get rid of his trousers and then it’s just the two of them, with miles and miles of bare skin between them. “You’re really beautiful,” Iwaizumi whispers, because really, Oikawa _should_ know what he thinks.

Oikawa pretends he’s not smiling, suppressing his smile, and it shouldn’t be so adorable but it is. And then Oikawa goes to take his glasses off and Iwaizumi stops him. “Keep them on,” he says, praying that the sentence that is about to come out of his mouth doesn’t destroy his reputation forever. “I like how you look with glasses.”

Oikawa lights up like a Christmas tree, pleased and glowing with delight. “Anything to indulge your depraved kinks,” he says, because he’s a compulsive ruiner of moments. The dorky rectangle frames perch on the edge of Oikawa’s slim nose, perfectly positioned for him to look down and fake-pout at Iwaizumi, channelling every disappointed teacher _ever._ “Didn’t know you had a thing for the librarian look, but I can deal with that. Want me to put on a pencil skirt and heels?”

“Unfortunately,” Iwaizumi growls beneath his breath, pretending the idea doesn’t appeal to him as much as it does, “ _you_ are my kink, and so I’m ruined forever.” Oikawa squeaks a little, clearly not expecting that degree of honesty. It’s quickly beginning to be Iwaizumi’s favourite sound.

“You’re too good to me,” Oikawa replies eventually, surprisingly quiet. Iwaizumi’s hands are stroking down Oikawa’s sides because he really doesn’t know where to go from there, it’s not like he’s super experienced at making love to his best friend and the most important person in his life. At that, he stops.

“I’m not,” he promises. “I’m just good enough for you, and you’re just good enough for me. We wouldn’t have been friends so long if we weren’t just right for each other, whether as friends or as, well.” The word is hard to say, but he wants to say it. He wants the weight of what they are to be between them as they do this.

“Boyfriends,” Oikawa says, when it becomes apparent that the word is stuck in his throat. That’s how they’ve always been. Oikawa has always known how and when to complete his sentences.

“Yeah,” he says. “That. Lovers.” There’s another word that lies heavy in the space between them, that none of them dare to voice. They will, one day, Iwaizumi is sure of it.

“Will you come inside me, Hajime?” Oikawa asks after another long minute of kissing. He’s not sure where touching starts and kissing begins, isn’t even sure where he starts and Oikawa ends, but Iwaizumi nods anyway because he’s breathless, and because he’s never been great with words anyway. There’s nothing he wants more.

“I’ve not done this before, so tell me if anything hurts, okay?” he says instead. He can see the questions brimming in Oikawa’s eyes but thankfully he doesn’t ask, just nods and wraps his impossibly long fingers around Iwaizumi’s biceps. Iwaizumi is grateful, because he’s not sure how to explain that the one time he made out with a guy in a club (which Oikawa had forced him to go to), he’d called the guy Tooru and proceeded to freak out so badly that he’d run home on his own.

Thankfully Tenda or Tendou or whatever his name had been hadn’t told anyone about it. Oikawa had spent hours alone in their flat, worrying that any minute now, Oikawa would come in and gently explain that he wasn’t comfortable being around Iwaizumi any longer, or worse, laughing at him. A small eternity had passed until Oikawa got home, completely and blissfully unaware that Iwaizumi had had a full-scale melt-down in his absence, clucking about having been abandoned on the dancefloor by his best friend.

It feels like he’s been waiting for Oikawa to catch up to this _forever_ , and that everything and everyone else has just been the filling in between him and the rest of their lives together.

Iwaizumi’s mouth goes dry when Oikawa lets him wrap fingers around an ankle and bring his foot up to rest on his shoulder. His toes curl and point when Iwaizumi turns his head to kiss Oikawa’s calf, and he’s just unspeakably lovely. His eyes are huge and liquid and luscious in the dark room. His other hand is fisted in the bedsheets beneath his body and in the space between one thought and the next, Iwaizumi has slipped his hand into Oikawa’s instead, lacing their fingers tightly together.

Oikawa squeezes his hand and Iwaizumi squeezes back and it’s perfect, and suddenly, so easy. They are what they have always been; two interlocking pieces of a puzzle, fated to be side-by-side forever.

Oikawa yelps when Iwaizumi accidentally drips cold lube on his belly, and yelps again when Iwaizumi reaches between them to trace wet fingers against Oikawa’s opening, and Iwaizumi can’t wait to what sounds Oikawa makes when he’s actually buried inside him. Oikawa’s fingers clench even tighter around his hand when Iwaizumi slips a finger into him, and he makes the sweetest, strangest hiccupping little sound under his breath. Iwaizumi wants to ask him to turn it up, wants to lean down closer to Oikawa’s mouth so he can hear better, but he’s perfectly aware of how silly that would be. He couldn’t possibly ask for that.

Iwaizumi is so fascinated by the way his fingers vanish _into_ Oikawa that he doesn’t even notice when Oikawa starts tearing up silently, lower lip pulled between his teeth. When he notices, it’s instinctive to pull his fingers out of Oikawa and lean into a kiss to ease Oikawa’s pouty lower lip from between his own teeth into the safety of Iwaizumi’s own mouth, snagged gently between his own teeth. Oikawa’s mouth opens for him and he moans and Iwaizumi drinks it in, feeling the sound vibrating in his own chest. He doesn’t have any hands free to wipe Oikawa’s tears away so he kisses them instead, as softly as he can. “Sorry, Tooru, did I hurt you?” he asks.

Oikawa offers him a teary smile and shakes his head. “It’s just so much, I can’t believe—” Honestly, Iwaizumi can’t believe Oikawa is being so open with him, about his feelings of all things. Oikawa Tooru as most people know him is a façade and a hundred layers of masks beneath, he’s soft and ugly like a snail inside the shell, or the heart of an onion. The real Oikawa deep inside is so vulnerable that he rarely comes out, for fear of being hurt.

Iwaizumi can’t help but kiss him again, teary-wet lips and all, until they’re both breathing heavily. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world until Iwaizumi realises that Oikawa’s leg is still propped against his shoulder, and he’s bent it almost in half between them. The realisation sends a jolt of heat straight through his belly, and for a split second he has a vision of bending Oikawa in half and – _and_ – “shit.”

Oikawa’s eyes are still wet but he’s smirking in that way of his that makes it look like he can read minds. To be fair, he’s always been able to read Iwaizumi’s mind, so this is nothing new. “Impressed? You’re so lucky I’m in top form,” he brags, like the snotty shit he is. Iwaizumi’s chest is still on fire, all achey and hot like he’s got the world’s worst case of heartburn, so he lets himself pinch Oikawa’s (perfect) ass, _hard_ , and enjoys the ensuing squeak. “Such a brute, Iwa-chan!” he wails, but he doesn’t mean it. Iwaizumi absently wonders if he’s left a red mark on the pale skin of Oikawa’s ass; wonders if he could make different red and purple marks with his _teeth_.

“Want me to stop so you can nurse your wounds?” he asks instead, and Oikawa all but trips over his own tongue before he realises he’s been had. Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from smirking like he’s just won a championship. Oikawa grins back, sunny and brilliant, like he’s won something too. To be fair, neither of them have ever won anything without the other. It makes sense that it’s always going to be the same, even here.

“So are you going to get on with it or should I find someone else—” Oikawa starts, and it’s enough to get Iwaizumi into gear, two fingers slotting into Oikawa where they’d been just minutes ago. Oikawa makes another hilarious noise, a cross between a hiccup and a whine.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Iwaizumi hears himself growl, pushing his fingers deeper and curling them like he’d tried on himself once before. It doesn’t seem to work the same way, so he pulls out his finger, lubes them up and tries again. It takes a few attempts but to his credit, Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind at all, humming quietly and staring soulfully at Iwaizumi in that way he has, like he has all the stars in the sky falling into his eyes. Iwaizumi keeps trying, only getting partially distracted by the way Oikawa seems to suck him in, and the slick little noises that sound so filthy in the silence of the room. And then he seems to get something right because Oikawa’s gentle hum stops abruptly, dropping into silence.

When he looks up, Oikawa’s pink mouth is open and even though he’s looking at Iwaizumi, it’s clear he’s not actually seeing him. At some point their hands fell apart when Iwaizumi wanted to hold Oikawa’s thigh away from his body so he had space to move, and Oikawa had wrapped his fingers around Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Oikawa’s grip becomes bruising and Iwaizumi decides he’s on the right path, so he does it again.

This time Oikawa’s leg – the one propped on Iwaizumi’s shoulder – twitches. “Oh my _god_ ,” Oikawa whispers, almost as if he doesn’t realise he’s even talking. Iwaizumi does it again, a heady sort of power filling his head at the knowledge that he can drive the smugness even from Oikawa’s face. Oikawa whines a little, and it’s like a Pavlovian reaction, Iwaizumi can’t stop curling his fingers inside just to see what kind of reaction Oikawa will have each time, what kind of sound he’ll make.

Two fingers become three and Iwaizumi’s not entirely sure when there came to be so much lube between then, sticking on their skin and pooling stickily on the scratchy bedsheets between them. A small voice in his head reminds him that laundry is going to be a monumental task, but the rest of his brain roars back that it’s all the more reason to make a proper mess, just so that the effort of laundry is worth it.

Oikawa’s mouth is open wide and his eyes are closed tight and his fingers on Iwaizumi’s shoulder are vice-tight. His head is thrown back into the pillows and Iwaizumi wants to _bite_ the pale column of his throat, to leave his mark externally as much as he is doing internally. From the corner of his eye he can see Oikawa’s toes curling and his calf flexing into a stunningly graceful line, and even his ankle is beautiful. Iwaizumi never thought he’d be so gone as to be thinking about ankles when Oikawa’s long, lean body is all spread out in front of him. But somehow, it’s that, the ruffle of hair against his fingers, the salty-sour smell in the air, the scar on his knee where Oikawa has gone for surgery, and the weird spasm in the meat of Oikawa’s thigh that makes it real.

This isn’t just _someone_. This is Oikawa Tooru, who’s shared every part of his life with Iwaizumi, with whom Iwaizumi wants to share even more, with whom he wants to share _everything_ , his bed, his body, his house, his _heart_. Oikawa Tooru is lying in front of him, bare and at his mercy, and Iwaizumi is the most benevolent being in the world because all he wants is to see this man shatter and break under his own gentle hands. It’s not too much to ask, he hopes.

He fully intends on fucking Oikawa with his fingers until he comes, but a split second after Oikawa chokes out a moan, he’s moving, shoving Iwaizumi backwards until he’s no longer able to stay on the bed and his feet plant on the ground. Oikawa is shoving pillows under his lower back, and then he lifts his own leg to prop it against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Fuck me, Iwa-chan,” he says, and it’s the slur in his voice that tells Iwaizumi this is as serious for Oikawa as it is for him.

“Condom,” he demands, gritting his teeth together as though it can stave off his hair trigger.

Oikawa shakes his head, soft brown curls falling everywhich way, smashed against the pillow. “We don’t need ‘em,” he says, and Iwaizumi is struck with the urge to actually bite him, to sink his teeth into soft flesh until it hurts, and maybe then Oikawa will learn his lesson.

“Condom or no sex,” he says, because it’ll kill him to stop here but he’ll be damned if he allows Oikawa to get his way in this.

Oikawa looks properly dismayed – as he should – and babbles something about being clean, and about how Iwaizumi is the only one.

“And what if _I_ wasn’t clean?” he asks, breaking off the stream of nonsense.

Oikawa pauses and then blinks, like this hasn’t even occurred to him. “Iwa-chan, I know for a fact that you have to take blood tests every four months to work at the hospital, and I know where your blood test results are filed. Also, I think I’d know if you were getting sex anywhere else.” Which is probably true, not that Iwaizumi would ever admit it.

“And I trust you. I trust you more than I trust even myself. You’d take your own arm off before you hurt me in anyway, I know that.” And that is also true, damn him.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to insist on a condom anyway, because no number of sweet words are going to get in his way, but Oikawa is speaking before he can. “Please, Iwa-chan. I want to feel you inside me, at least this first time.” His voice is quivering and vulnerable, and Iwaizumi isn’t sure how much of it is real and how much of it is for show. It’s always been this way between then. It’s like he’s ordered romance and love and received a free helping of drama and blatant emotional manipulation with it. 

Iwaizumi thinks for a second and then decides that it’s time to trust in Oikawa and take the fall. He slicks up his cock with what little lubricant is left in the bottle and then pushes into Oikawa’s tight heat, one inch at a time.

By the time he’s all the way in, Oikawa is whining high in his throat, eyes squeezed shut and hands squeezed around his own thighs, as if they’re the only things keeping his legs apart. Iwaizumi puts his hands on Oikawa’s thighs too, to hold them apart, and to use as a pivot to keep them connected. On the first thrust, Oikawa exhales softly like a sigh, and it’s lovely but – it’s – Iwaizumi wants _more_ than just that. He wants Oikawa wailing and shrieking and waking all their neighbours up, even though the sigh curls up like a cat and takes up permanent residence in his chest.

He does his best to fuck different noises out of Oikawa, taking his time and being patient, but even though Oikawa is trembling ever so slightly, the sighs coming out of his mouth remain soft and delicate, so translucent they might as well not be there. It occurs to Iwaizumi that something’s wrong with his angle, so he pulls Oikawa up until his knee is hooked over his shoulder, instead of just his ankle.

It definitely makes a difference when he slides _down_ into Oikawa’s body, because Oikawa chokes on his little sigh and his voice cracks at the end of it, breaking into something more embarrassing. Iwaizumi does it again and Oikawa’s fist flies to his mouth, teeth sinking into his own flesh like he’s trying to stopper his own sounds.

Iwaizumi refuses to let all his hard work go to waste. He’s sweating now, from exertion and the weight on his shoulder. He’s not done all of this for Oikawa to keep his noises to himself. He wants _everything_ Oikawa has to give. He bends over to pull Oikawa’s fist from his mouth and the angle changes again, and the way pleasure races through his body and explodes into sparks behind his eyelids is _blinding_. Oikawa chokes again, gurgling around a noise in the back of his throat and then exhaling in a long, high whine.

“I want to hear you,” Iwaizumi hears himself whisper, and his voice is barely recognizable, low and harsh with sex and wanting. “Please, Tooru. Let me hear you.”

Oikawa blinks up at him and he still looks shaken, but he nods.

When Iwaizumi starts moving again, Oikawa drops his head back and melts, and only then does Iwaizumi realise how tense he’d really been, like he’d been deliberately holding himself still. His mouth opens and he lets out the most glorious moan, which leaves Iwaizumi shivering in pleasure too. Oikawa’s voice is familiar and lovely and utterly filthy, and Iwaizumi wants to wrap it around himself like a blanket just so he can be surrounded in it.

He picks up his pace and then wraps his hand around Oikawa’s cock, which is furiously red and dripping, jutting proudly into the air between them. It’s amazing how Oikawa’s managed to maintain his hard-on, given that he’s tilted so far backwards that all his blood is probably rushing to his head.

“Ha-” Oikawa starts, breath huffing out of his lungs when Iwaizumi pistons his hips. He’s torn between letting Oikawa speak and doing his best to ensure that he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to ever form another word – he wants to drive every coherent thought clear out of Oikawa’s head. “Ha-” Oikawa tries again, higher pitched, voice breaking around the syllable. He’s completely red in the face and shaking around Iwaizumi’s dick.

“Ha-Ha-Haji _me_ , _please_ ,” he begs, heavy tears catching on his ridiculous lashes, and he’s _stunning_. He’s more gorgeous than he’s ever been before, and Iwaizumi’s never going to let him go. “Please,” he begs again, “let me come,” his mouth is wet and Iwaizumi wants to kiss him desperately, but he can’t, not from this position. Oikawa’s voice quivers and curls around Iwaizumi’s name and it’s almost like a physical thing caressing him, and Iwaizumi finds himself pushing deeper, grinding himself _hard_ against Oikawa, revelling in the way Oikawa seems to get tighter and tighter as his voice goes higher and higher, and Iwaizumi can’t help but pick up his pace to match.

The slick sound of skin-on-skin is almost deafening, along with the creaking groan of the cheap bed-frame. There’s a dull roaring in his head and Iwaizumi recognizes it as the sound of his own heartbeat, punctuated by Oikawa’s moans, the way he seems to be chanting Iwaizumi’s name ( _his name!_ ) on every thrust.

In the end he’s not sure what tips Oikawa over the edge, but he suspects it’s the way he growls his name and twists his wrist at the end of a stroke of Oikawa’s cock. Oikawa goes absolutely rigid and spasms around Iwaizumi’s cock, which only makes him shove in deeper, causing a chain reaction of pleasure and release. Oikawa’s mouth is still open and the room is silent except for his gasps. Oikawa’s release is painted over his own belly which is rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing, and his face is covered in a light sheen of sweat.

It’s a miracle that Iwaizumi hasn’t come yet, but he doesn’t know how long he’s going to last. He’s so close and Oikawa is still squeezing tight around him. He doesn’t even know – can’t even imagine what that feels like for him, the breaking of an orgasm like a tsunami while someone else is still inside him, a foreign object holding him apart when all he wants to do is shut down. Quiet seconds pass while Oikawa comes down from his high, breathing slowing, twitching of his cock slowly fading away.

Iwaizumi experimentally moves his hips and Oikawa reacts instantly, eyes snapping open and hands scrabbling frantically for something to hold on to. The protesting noise that comes out from his mouth is barely human, something animal from deep inside.

Iwaizumi is torn between carrying on anyway, making Oikawa wail with oversensitivity, and pulling out, using his own hand, and kissing Oikawa until he falls asleep so that Iwaizumi can satisfy his life-long fantasy of cuddling with a sleeping Oikawa. Apparently the moment he takes to think about it is enough for Oikawa. “Okay,” he gasps, both hands fisted in the bedsheets now. His knees are shaking and it doesn’t look like he has enough strength in him to even walk, let alone to be fucked the way Iwaizumi wants to fuck him. “Okay,” he says again, “go for it, Iwa-chan. I’m all yours.”

Iwaizumi scoffs – a familiar sound for both of them – and starts to pull away, mindful of Oikawa’s winces and hisses. The urge to check if he’s actually torn something or hurt Oikawa is rising. “No, no-no,” Oikawa says, and his words are definitely slurring from the release. “Iwa-chan, please fuck me,” he whines, achingly familiar. “I want you to come inside me, _please_ ,” and it’s almost begging. Stronger men than Iwaizumi would have broken, but he’s well-aware that tomorrow they’re both going to be playing volleyball, and he really doesn’t want this to affect Oikawa’s performance.

“Idiot,” he says when he’s out, lowering Oikawa’s body onto the mattress and stretching his own back. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to do whatever you want. I’m not going to hurt you like that.”

“Please,” Oikawa begs, and it really sounds like he’s descended into nonsense, the pleading is really too much. “Please, Hajime, I want you inside me.”

An idea occurs to Iwaizumi. “Can you get on your knees?” he asks, and Oikawa is moving before he can even finish his sentence, shaky on his hands and knees, but it’s enough to take Iwaizumi’s breath away, to see Oikawa Tooru like this, presenting himself to Iwaizumi.

“God, Tooru,” he whispers, because while he’s not injured, the skin of Oikawa’s opening is flushed red and sore-looking, and it’s all Iwaizumi can do to run his fingers lightly across it, just to watch Oikawa twitch and squirm. Next time, he’s going to put his mouth there and make Oikawa cry, he thinks, but he’s only human and now that Oikawa’s been taken care of, his own needs are more immediate.

Iwaizumi holds himself with one hand and puts his other hand on Oikawa’s hip, as though to hold him still, even though he knows Oikawa isn’t going anywhere. He leans in a little closer until the tip of his cock is just touching Oikawa’s hole before he starts stroking himself. He’s so hard that half the blood from his brain must have gone to his lower extremities, and it really doesn’t take long.

When he comes, he aims at Oikawa’s opening so he can paint white fluid all over Oikawa’s red skin. That’s about all he has the presence of mind to do before pleasure overwhelms him. From a distance, he’s aware that he’s digging his fingers into Oikawa’s hip, and that it’s tight enough to bruise. He’s shaking with his release, and so is Oikawa, and Iwaizumi only has a split second to push some of his own come into Oikawa with – truly filthy – fingers before Oikawa collapses, whining.

Iwaizumi goes with him and lets his body land on top of Oikawa’s as gently as he can, minding their elbows and knees and other delicate parts. He’s utterly drained when he puts his nose into the hair on the back of Oikawa’s head, where he’s sweaty and still smells like fruity shampoo. He can feel Oikawa’s pulse through his skin, and it feels almost inevitable when his own racing heart slows to match Oikawa’s rhythm.

Their situation, upon hindsight, is really disgusting. There’s lube and come everywhere, mostly on Oikawa’s skin, on his back and dripping down between his legs. Iwaizumi doesn’t even want to think about the state of the bedsheets. If anyone else had to wash these sheets he’d never be able to meet their eyes again.

“I never know you were so filthy,” Oikawa mumbles through a yawn, but Iwaizumi can hear a smile on his face. “So depraved, Iwa-chan,” his voice lilts. Iwaizumi slips his hand between Oikawa’s chest and the bed and pinches a nipple, hard. Oikawa yelps and squirms, and it’s so strange and _lovely_ to feel Oikawa’s nonsense from up close, to actually _feel_ his exaggerated movements and his squirming and his voice humming through his body, that Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh. It’s a quiet laugh but it’s enough to make Oikawa stop whining about being brutalised and start turning to face Iwaizumi.

He’s dead weight, he knows, but somehow Oikawa manages, and Iwaizumi was right; even Oikawa’s belly is sticky and wet and it’s a miracle the idiot hasn’t started complaining yet.

“I need a shower,” Oikawa says, proving Iwaizumi’s point. His voice is still a little soft and crumbly, like he’s not a hundred per-cent himself yet. The tone of voice is all his, though, and it’s comforting that even though the entire world has changed, Oikawa remains the same. “So do you,” he continues, tracing long lines down Iwaizumi’s back with his slender fingers. His actions don’t match his words though; he makes no move to leave, or to get Iwaizumi off him.

Iwaizumi is perfectly content lying there on top of Oikawa’s long form, feeling his heart beating steadily under his skin.

“I mean,” Oikawa continues, as though nothing major has happened, “I wouldn’t mind being stuck to you forever, but this is a little bit disgusting you have to admit, and you might actually end up murdering me with your brutality, you know, my mother would be disapp—”

Iwaizumi doesn’t let the idiot finish his sentence and takes his lips in a kiss, in an attempt to stop more horrifying words from leaving his mouth. He really doesn’t want to be thinking about Oikawa’s mother, right now. Oikawa melts into the kiss easily, falling into the rhythm of push and retreat that they have between them at all times, tongues tangling messily until he really runs out of air to breathe.

When he pulls away, Oikawa is smiling fondly at him. Iwaizumi can’t help but smile back and snag a finger in the most stubborn curl of Oikawa’s hair which refuses to straighten or grow out, no matter what. It bounces back into shape like it always does and Oikawa huffs out a laugh. Iwaizumi can feel his lungs contract and expand beneath him. He’s utterly exhausted and in no hurry to move at all. “Should have known Iwa-chan, you need stamina training,” Oikawa teases, like he can read Iwaizumi’s mind.

Iwaizumi registers the joke and lets himself bare a grin at Oikawa, who to his credit, looks a little nervous. “If you think you can still take it Tooru, I did want to use my mouth on you,” he threatens, sliding his own thigh between Oikawa’s legs as if he’s really going to do it, right now. Before Oikawa can even respond, he has two fingers sliding into him again, a little rough so Oikawa can feel it.

Oikawa shrieks and _moves_ , throwing Iwaizumi’s weight off him as though it’s nothing, proving his strength yet again. He’s on his feet and not running, but definitely moving towards the bathroom with speed, mock-glaring at Iwaizumi along the way. “You’re really going to make me cry one day,” Oikawa threatens, hands on his hips like a scolding mother.

“How do you know that’s not what I’m into?” Iwaizumi asks honestly, because Oikawa probably already knows what’s been in his head for the longest time.

Oikawa turns around to face him between one step and the next, graceful on his feet as usual. “If you want that, I’ll cry for you one day,” he says, sweetly. It shouldn’t mean much, given that Oikawa can cry on demand, producing big fat tears to evoke sympathy from all but the most heartless. But it does. He doesn’t think Oikawa would lie to him like that.

He catches up with Oikawa and pulls him into a kiss. Despite his apparent reticence, Oikawa always comes easily, hands fluttering around on Iwaizumi’s chest uselessly as though he’s still trying to figure out where to touch and hold. Iwaizumi wraps his hands around Oikawa’s waist and Oikawa copies him, taking his cue as they kiss. “Shower,” Iwaizumi reminds him, breaking the kiss.

“If you’ll remember, I was on my way and you were the one who interrupted me,” Oikawa says smugly, all but raising a finger in the air as if to say ‘I told you so’.

Iwaizumi smacks his ass when he’s climbing into the shower and then catches him before slips, shrieking a little. He’s back to his usual noisy self. “Iwa-chan,” he whines, “you could have killed me! I’ll forbid you from fucking me after this!” he threatens.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Alright, then you can fuck me.” That’s enough to strike Oikawa dumb, mouth a little agape as though he can’t quite believe what he’s just heard.

“Wow, Iwa-chan,” he says, finally recovering his words. “I didn’t know you were secure enough in your masculinity to allow that!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait. “You really do have the shittiest personality,” Iwaizumi replies instead, allowing fondness to colour his voice.

“I do not!” Oikawa shrieks again, his voice shrill and pitchy. The idiot has his hands pressed to his face like it's the most scandalous thing he's ever heard about himself, and not like it's something Iwaizumi says about him every other day of the week; has been saying since they were eight years old. He thinks anyone else would have run in the opposite direction a long time ago, but he's sure; this is the voice he wants to wake up to, for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm _so_ ready to release this thing into the wild I thought it would never end. Hope ya'll enjoy 8k of feelings and porn and feelings porn - I haven't slept in days :/ Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Heads up - that bit where they think about getting tattoos? Yeah, I've already written it. To be published soon...


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